Psycho(logy) *under construction*

7. Miranda

Harry stared at me, with a strange expression on his face. The same expression Brit had when I told her. One with a mixture of shock, confusion, and horror.

"A- a what?"

"A-phone-sex-o-per-a-tor." I tell him slowly. "You know, people call and I have to-" I was interrupted by Harry's protest.

"Okay! Okay. I know what it is, God. You don't have to tell me. But, just, why?" He looked absoultly baffled at my occupation. I don't understand why, I mean, it's not exactly a dream job but you'd be suprised how well it pays.

"Well, a couple days after I arrived in London I wanted a pizza. I dialed a wrong number, got offered a job that payed €30 an hour, took it. End of story."

He looked at me more dumbfounded than ever. "What the fuck Char! You just don't accept a job offer because they pay you €20 an hour! Especially not one as... disgusting as this one!"

"Why is it disgusting Harry!" Anger boils up inside me. "Is it because you think everything's fucking sexual! Well, it's not. My job isn't all just about sex, it's about release. Yeah, okay I admit, sometimes it is sexual. But, you don't get it. Guys call, girls call. It's like therapy. It a place where they can pour their hearts out to a complete stranger and know they won't be judged. The women who work there aren't just sexy talkers, they are good listeners too. Sometimes people just need to talk to someone, anyone. And that's where I come in. I don't only talk but I listen as well, Harry. Maybe that's why I enjoy it. Because I can actually hear people's problems and try to help them. I feel like a real psychologist, you know. When someone just needs me to listen, I don't feel like a little girl running around pretending to be one and having people humor me. I can finally experience what I've always wanted, even if I'll never get it." By the end of my rant my voice had softened to barely a whisper.

Harry's confused face softened to one of sympathy. "I'm sorry Char, I- I really didn't know. I'm sorry. You're right. I don't know anything about your job." He walked up to me and opened his arms wide. "Smile Buttercup," He tilted my chin up towards him. I smiled and hugged him tight, he then whispered in my ear, "and don't you ever say that, you will be an amazing psychologist one day. Remember; 'you're too good to fail'."

'You're too good to fail.' That's what I had told him the day I discovered he was a phenominal singer. He told me he had always known that he wanted to entertain people but always thought he would fail if he tried.

Was this how it was when you were with someone from your past? Would you keep remembering things that happened, things that you said all those years ago? It seems that's all we've been doing these two days. Remembering. I'm just glad it was the happy ones we kept remembering and not the sad ones.

I ignore those morbid thoughts.

My cell phone rings and its Miranda.

"I have to go." I detach myself from Harry's torso and look up at him.

"So soon?" He asks with a sad look on his face.

"Yeah, my shift starts at 12."

"Oh, well, I guess I'll see you when you come back. You are coming back right?"

I giggled at his question. "Yes, I promise." Before I knew it I had reached up and pecked him on the cheek. It was rough, from the lack of sleep I guess. Yet, I blushed and ran out of the kitchen before he could even notice me.

As I rushed down the stairs, completely forgetting there was an elevator, I could hear the continuous beeping of an impatient Miranda waiting outside. As I walked out the doors I could see her sitting there smashing the horn again, and again, and again.